Living with a dragon
by yogini
Summary: The challenges that the Sheriff, Peter and everyone else in Beacon Hills face while trying to raise a young, hyperactive dragon into becoming a respectable young man. It takes a village, after all…
1. Sparkle and shine

**Living with a dragon**

* * *

I don't own Teen Wolf or any of the characters in the series, I'm just borrowing them from their respective owners to play with a little and I promise to give them back when I'm done. No copyright infringement is intended and I don't make any money from writing fanfiction.

* * *

 **Sparkle and shine**

"Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"No."

"But it's really nice, see?"

"Still no."

"But Peteeeeeer" Stiles pouted.

"Still no." Peter refused to budge. He was not going to lose this battle, he was not going to buy Stiles a goddamn soup ladle and he was not going to fall for the puppy eyes. Period.

"But it's so shiny" Stiles practically whimpered, holding up the spoon so close for inspection that he was in danger of hitting the older man in the face. "Don't you see the way the light makes it all nice and sparkly and glawsome?"

"I'm pretty sure that 'glawsome' isn't a real word, Stiles" Peter said, sighing a little. "And you should put it down, we're leaving now."

"Is too" Stiles pouted but he actually, lo and behold, put the spoon back on the shelf without making too much of a fuss about it. Clearly Peter's parenting skills were better than he'd thought them to be. "A word, I mean. It means glowing and awesome at the same time."

"Is not" Peter said, adopting the same childish tone of voice as he ushered the child closer to the store's exit. "Come on, I'll buy you ice cream on the way home if you behave." Stiles immediately perked up.

"From Izzie's?" he asked eagerly, eyes wide with hope and Peter felt his resolve steadily melt away. He had planned to go to the nearest ice cream place but there was simply no way of denying Stiles anything when he looked like that. He sighed and inwardly cursed the power of those big, bambi eyes.

"From Izzie's" he confirmed and without further prompting Stiles was suddenly already halfway down the road, shouting at Peter to hurry up as the older man followed him at a more sedate pace.

If Peter had thought that distracting the young boy with ice cream to forget about the soup ladle had been a good idea, he was soon to be proven wrong. Very, very wrong. Because Izzie's was an all-out fifties themed, American diner style kind of ice cream parlor with lots of chrome and shiny things as far as the eye could see. Stiles was in heaven. Peter most certainly was _not_. There was simply no way that he'd ever be able to get Stiles out of there without the boy trying to pinch a thing or two. The boy's penchant for anything glittery or shiny was as ardent as it was unexplainable and Peter had since he started to babysit Stiles quickly become something of an expert in the art of avoiding these objects, or at least return them to their rightful owner before they even noticed that something was amiss. He could still remember some of the more serious near-misses with a shudder though.

So far he'd had to wrench two table spoons from the protesting boy's very uncooperative hands and as a preventive measure he hid the Elvis shaped bottle opener behind the counter. After he'd successfully managed to convince Stiles not to dismantle the jukebox there and then their sundaes finally arrived and Peter was given a brief respite as Stiles was too busy eating to be able to plan any more thefts, coups or heists. His luck lasted for as long as the sundae did and a little bit more, and they were two whole blocks away from the diner when an angry shout was heard and he winced when he recognized the voice. It was Miss Izzie herself.

"Hey! Get back here!" Peter reluctantly stopped and turned around, putting a hand on Stiles' shoulder to make the boy do the same. "Thief! Thief! That boy is a thief!"

"Do you have anything on you that I should know about?" Peter whispered quietly out of the corner of his mouth as Miss Izzie quickly approached, glaring dangerously at the both of them as her ample bosom heaved from exertion. And of course Stiles, who'd normally only shut up when he was asleep, would chose that exact moment to suddenly become mute.

"Stiles?" Peter asked again, giving the boy a gentle shake but Stiles only shook his head.

"I should call the police!" Miss Izzie screeched, jabbing an accusing finger at the boy's face and as Stiles visibly flinched Peter quickly pulled him back a little, shielding him from the angry woman.

"What seems to be the matter?" he asked, trying to be as polite as possible.

"That _boy_ ," she spat out the word as if it tasted foul, "that boy has my property on him. Pinched! Stolen! Contraband!" Peter only raised an eyebrow at the shrill outburst.

"And what makes you think that?"

"The waitress saw him take it!" Miss Izzie insisted, moving forward with her hands outstretched as if to physically search through Stiles' clothes herself. Peter stopped her with a well-aimed icy glare and turned his back on her angry huffing when he crouched down to talk to Stiles.

"Is there anything that might have fallen into your pockets while we were at the diner?" he asked, trying to stay calm. He suddenly had a nagging suspicion that he'd rather not have confirmed to be true. Another headshake was the only the response to his question. "So if I reach into your coat pocket," Peter continued, "then I won't find anything? Nothing at all?" Stiles continued to shake his head but he couldn't quite make himself look Peter in the eyes and that was all the confirmation the older man needed. He sighed and held out one hand, while lifting Stiles' chin with the other.

"Come on, buddy, you know what you have to do" he prompted and Stiles glared back, looking equal parts mutinous and ashamed. He then sullenly fished out two ice cream scoops with handles shaped as guitars and handed them over.

"Thank you" Peter said as he stood up to address the very angry owner of the diner. "Miss, I'm so sorry." He held out the scoops and she practically snatched them from his hand, clutching them protectively to her chest. "I do apologize but I'm sure that the boy didn't mean any harm, and I'm sure that there's no need to…"

"No harm? No harm!" she yelled back, interrupting him. "These are custom made! I am going to call his father and tell him he has a thief for a son and a worthless babysitter as well!" And with that she turned on her heel and stomped away, still muttering under her breath. Peter sighed and turned back towards Stiles who'd remained frozen where he stood.

"Stiles?" You okay buddy?" Peter asked as he noticed that the boy's cheeks were wet with tears.

"I know I can't just take them" Stiles whispered sobbing. "I _know_ that. And I didn't _mean_ to take them! But they're just so shiny and I _need_ them." His words gave Peter a sinking feeling in his stomach. He nodded towards the car park.

"Let's get you home, buddy, and then I'll talk to your dad, okay?" Once Stiles' seat belt was safely buckled Peter took a quick moment to send a text to Talia before he got in the driver's seat. His alpha needed to be informed that he was fairly certain that Sheriff Stilinski's young son was in fact a dragon.


	2. Lost and found

**Living with a dragon**

* * *

I don't own Teen Wolf or any of the characters in the series, I'm just borrowing them from their respective owners to play with a little and I promise to give them back when I'm done. No copyright infringement is intended and I don't make any money from writing fanfiction.

* * *

 **Lost and found**

"Stiles?" Peter was very surprised to see the small figure standing outside when he opened the door. "What are you doing here?" Stiles didn't answer, just scuffed a small foot around in the dirt before extending his right hand and giving Peter a set of car keys. His own car keys to be precise.

"Sorry" the small boy said, barely audibly, and then turned to leave.

"No, wait!" Peter carelessly tossed the keys onto the small table beside the coatrack and crouched down, motioning for the boy to come closer. "Stiles, wait. Your father's really worried about you, come on in and I'll call him so he can come pick you up." Stiles shook his head but Peter could see that he was shivering.

"Why?"

"Don't want him to know" Stiles mumbled. "I'm sorry."

"Stiles?" He paused, waiting for the boy to look at him. "He already knows. He called a while ago to see if I'd seen you today, and I had to file a report yesterday about my car keys since I couldn't find them." Stiles hung his head and Peter pulled him into a hug. "He's not angry, Stiles, he's just worried." Still the boy squirmed a little and Peter added a little bit more sternly: "And I can't let you walk all the way back home like this, it's almost dark outside and it's cold. Come on, buddy, let's get you warmed up." He helped Stiles unzip his jacket and pulled out a blanket while Stiles kicked his off his shoes. Then he bundled the kid into the blanket and ushered him into the kitchen.

"Derek?" he yelled towards the roof while picking up his phone. "Can you make Stiles some hot chocolate, please?"

"Derek's home?" Stiles asked, visibly perking up where he sat. Peter nodded as footsteps were heard from the stairs and Stiles' smile went from small and hesitant to wide and radiant.

"Hi, Derek" he said shyly when the teenager entered the kitchen.

"Hi Stiles" Derek mumbled in reply, almost dropping the small saucepan that he'd pulled out when the small child suddenly appeared beside him.

"Can I put in the marshmallows? Please, please, please!" Stiles begged eagerly and Derek looked bewildered as he turned to his uncle.

"Let him sit on the counter and don't let him get to close to the stove" Peter said while he waited for the Sheriff to answer his phone. "Then he can put in the marshmallows, _after_ you've poured the chocolate into a cup." Stiles made a face at Peter.

"I'm not a baby" he said sulkily and Peter couldn't help ruffling his hair.

"No, but we don't want a repetition of last week's incident, now do we?" Stiles immediately looked contrite.

"No, I'll keep away from the stove" he promised. "And the pan. And the spoon. And the marshmallow tin." The look on Derek's face was near priceless as he carefully, as if handling a nuclear bomb, lifted Stiles up to sit on the counter, well away from the stove, and Peter had to stop himself from chuckling as someone finally answered.

"Sheriff's office, how may I be of assistance?"

"Hello, this is Peter Hale and I was hoping to speak to the Sheriff himself. His son just came to my house."

"Oh, thank god" the unknown female voice mumbled. "Sheriff!" she then yelled. "Stiles is with the Hales!"

::

"Don't ever do that to me again, Stiles!" the Sheriff barked out as soon as he barged into the Hale kitchen.

"Sorr- mpf!" Stiles squeaked as he was pulled into a bone-crushing embrace and hugged within an inch of his life.

"I thought you were kidnapped, or dead, or, or…" The Sheriff rocked his son back and forth as he tried to calm himself down. "I couldn't find you _anywhere_."

"Dad, I'm sorry. It's just that I took Peter's car keys and I wanted to give them back before anyone found out." Stiles didn't meet his father's eyes as the Sheriff pulled back.

"I told you to tell me if that happened, okay? If you take something, you tell me so that we can give it back." Stiles mumbled something. "What was that?"

"Don't wanna give it back" Stiles repeated a little louder. "Wanna keep it. Wanna keep everything."

"We've talked about this" the Sheriff sighed. "You can't just take people's things because you like them."

"I know" Stiles whispered. "I know, dad."

Later that evening the Sheriff had a long conversation with the Hale Emissary about his son's behaviour. After he'd put the phone down he took a deep breath and went to work. He had a lot to do before he could go to sleep.


	3. Shifts and changes

**Living with a dragon**

* * *

I don't own Teen Wolf or any of the characters in the series, I'm just borrowing them from their respective owners to play with a little and I promise to give them back when I'm done. No copyright infringement is intended and I don't make any money from writing fanfiction.

* * *

 **Shifts and changes**

"Sheriff?" Peter's voice sounded a little strained.

"Yes?"

"You should come home as fast as you can. We have a bit of a situation here." The Sheriff slammed the phone down on his desk before the call even disconnected and was out of the office in a second, yelling to the officer at the front desk that he had a family emergency. The confused first half of a question followed him outside as he thundered down the front steps, two at a time, and all but leaped into his car. Peter wouldn't call like that unless it really was something serious going on and he couldn't help to wonder what his son had done now.

Not many minutes later he arrived home, having broken against a non-negligible amount of speed limits and only jut remembered to shut the siren off before running towards the front door, or rather, the hole in the wall where the front door usually sat.

"Stiles? Peter? Answer me!" As he cautiously looked around his hand automatically searched for his gun. He quickly checked the living room which proved to be empty but in utter disarray and then moved on to the kitchen were a large number of plates and cups seemed to have been broken. There was also blood on the floor and the Sheriff felt as if someone had suddenly and brutally cut off his air supply.

"Stiles! Peter!" he yelled again, louder this time and thankfully he was answered.

"We're up here, Sheriff" Peter's voice seemed relatively calm and that soothed his nerves somewhat but he still couldn't shake of the feeling of panic that had clung to him ever since the phone call. He hastily made his way up the stairs and to his son's room, only to stop at the doorstep to take in the sight that met him. Peter and Stiles were both curled up on narrow bed, Stiles' head resting on Peter's chest. Peter's shirt was bloodied and in tatters, Stiles' hair was messy and his face was streaked with tears but he was asleep, and calmly so. Too calmly, in fact.

"What did you do to him?" the Sheriff all but roared, lifting the gun once more and pointing steadily at his son's babysitter.

"I drugged him" was the calm response. "He was too far gone, nothing I said was calming him down so I gave him the herbs that Deaton left us."

"You what? Those were only in case he sh-, I mean, only for emergencies! You shouldn't have done it! He almost looks dead!" The Sheriff took one step closer. "What could he possibly have done for you to drug him, huh? You of all people know of his excess energy, you can't just…"

"He shifted" Peter interrupted him, not looking even the least bit intimidated by the gun that the Sheriff belatedly realized contained regular bullets, not the wolfsbane variety. "All I did was to try to help him, Sheriff." Peter still sounded calm, but his voice had the smallest hint of reproach in it too.

"He… He shifted?! The Sheriff repeated faintly, lowering the gun and Peter nodded in response. "Fully?" Another nod. "This early?" The last question was almost whispered and answered with a grim smile from Peter.

"Sorry, I just… I didn't…" The Sheriff holstered the gun and took a tentative step closer. "You, uh, you okay?" he asked, gesturing towards Peter's general appearance.

"Werewolf healing has its perks" Peter answered as he continued to stroke Stiles' hair. "And I believe that it looked much worse than it actually was. I would've cleared away the blood before you came here if I'd had the time but…" He gestured to the sleeping boy and let the rest of the sentence die away.

"Of course, of course" the Sheriff hurried to agree. "Can I…?" He gestured towards the pair of them and Peter immediately vacated his spot, careful not to jostle Stiles.

"Go on, he'll need his father for this. I'll just go borrow your bathroom for a while, make myself a bit more presentable. Talia's already on her way." With that Peter left the Sheriff to care for his son as he went off to find a shirt that wasn't drenched in blood.

::

"I didn't think…" The Sheriff's voice trailed off as he watched his son running around the yard and playing with Scott, seemingly without a care in the world despite the fact that he'd just shifted into his dragon form for the first time in his life, mere hours ago. "I just hoped that, with all the precautions that we'd made, that we could've delayed it a bit more. He's only _twelve_." He rubbed a hand that was shaking slightly over his forehead, as he thought about all the steps and measures that had been put in place to keep Stiles' true nature from being revealed. All of Claudia's jewellery that he'd put away, the silvery photo frames that had been replaced with wooden ones, the plastic utensils they used in the kitchen. He'd done anything he possibly could to keep Stiles getting exposed to glittery metals and shiny things, even going as far as to invent a severe allergy against nickel to keep the school staff from asking any questions. The less his son saw of shiny objects, the less he'd crave them, and thus, at least in theory, they could delay his formal presentation of a dragon. Now that it had happened all of it was of no use anymore. They'd have to resort to other measures to keep him safe, and Stiles would have to learn to control his instincts.

"I don't know what to do" he confessed to the woman sitting next to him.

"I've been in contact with our Emissary" Talia said. "He will cut his trip short and return here as quickly as he can. Then we can discuss our options. In the meantime it might be safer for Stiles to spend as little time as possible around others, and their inevitable," she paused, searching a moment for the right word, " _temptations_." The Sheriff sighed heavily.

"I never wanted to do this to him."

"No parent ever does" Talia tried to comfort him. "I'll make the necessary arrangements."

The next day Stiles was sent off to one of the Hale pack's safe houses. He wouldn't return to Beacon Hills until they'd managed to find a way to disguise his powers until he could control them.


	4. Trinkets and troubles

**Living with a dragon**

* * *

I don't own Teen Wolf or any of the characters in the series, I'm just borrowing them from their respective owners to play with a little and I promise to give them back when I'm done. No copyright infringement is intended and I don't make any money from writing fanfiction.

* * *

 **Trinkets and troubles**

"Stop it, Stiles" Scott whispered agitatedly as he snatched away the silvery Christmas ornaments before Stiles had the chance to get his hands on them. "Stop taking things or your dad will send you away again. I don't want my best friend to go away."

"Damn it, Scott, not the puppy dog eyes" Stiles complained. There was no way that he'd be able to ignore his friend looking like a sad little puppy, and it wasn't as if he was too keen on going away again either. Last time it happened was just after his first shift and it had been their first separation since they started going to the same kindergarten. It had been painful enough and Stiles had no intention of reliving that particular nightmare, for both their sakes. But he really couldn't help himself with all the pretty, _shiny_ things that just kept on appearing around him.

"You know I don't do it just to spite people" he sighed, shoulders slumping as he turned and trudged out of the store, determined to not look at anything but the floor. "Scott, you _know_ I don't" he continued, almost pleading now. He leaned in close, lowered his voice so that no one but Scott would hear. "But I just can't control it. And I just _like_ this stuff so much."

"Like it all you want, just don't pocket them" Scott said, aiming for partly teasing and partly comforting but not really succeeding.

"I'm trying to" was Stiles somewhat acerbic answer and Scott realized that he'd have to be a little more sympathetic than that.

"So, video games and pizza at my place?" he suggested and Stiles' eyes brightened.

"And that's why I love you, buddy." And with the prospect of junk food and entertainment Stiles' mind was sufficiently occupied and the risk of shiny trinkets falling into his pockets was averted but, sadly, it was only for the moment.

::

"Daaaaad" Stiles complained. "It was only a teeny tiny little one and she didn't even realize it was gone until _you_ insisted on me returning it." The older Stilinski fixed his son with a steely gaze, not at all amused by his flippant attitude and lack of respect for the situation at hand. This wasn't about Stiles pocketing a trinket or two, this was about not letting the wrong people realize that his son was expressing clear hoarding tendencies.

"Stiles, we've been over this again and again" the Sheriff started to say. "It's really important that you…"

"Never use my abilities in public and never give anyone reason to believe that I am what I am because then bad men will come after me and do horrible stuff to me, blah, blah, blah." Stiles rolled his eyes. "Dad, it's been almost six years since I presented. If someone was hunting me they'd already showed up by now. Okay? Don't worry, I'm safe." That sentence hit the Sheriff like a ton of bricks and he couldn't quite hold back the venom in his voice when he answered, completely without thinking.

"That's what your mother thought as well." Then he turned on his heel, slammed his bedroom door shut and left his son standing in the hallway in shock, mouth agape and eyes wide and disbelieving.

His son was many things but a slow thinker wasn't one of them. It was only minutes before his door shook in its frame from the incessant pounding.

"Dad, open the door, you can't just say stuff like that and then just disappear, and if you've locked yourself in there to drink so help me god I'll go get the…"

"Come in, Stiles" the Sheriff interrupted him as he yanked the door open. "Might as well get this over with" he muttered as he turned back towards his desk where he'd been sitting browsing through an old photo album, the one with all the pictures that he'd taken when Claudia was pregnant. He still remembered how she'd laughed at him every time he brought out the camera and then made any number of silly poses. But while he was pondering the past, his son was very much concentrated on their conversation in present time.

"How could you keep this from me? How could you not tell me that mom was a dragon like me too?" Stiles' voice was strident and he paced around the room gesturing wildly. "You've always said that you guys got divorced and she moved back to Poland and now you're saying someone killed her? Come on, dad, say something!"

"It's hard to get a word in when you're here, son" the Sheriff gently rebuked him as he put the album away. Stiles immediately stiffened, sat down on the bed and mimicked locking his lips and throwing away the key, then he raised his eyebrows and gestured impatiently for his father to start talking. Under happier circumstances the Sheriff would've laughed at his son's antics but not today. Instead he took a deep breath and started telling his son the truth about Claudia Stilinski.

"Your mother was a dragon" he started off, as good a place as any, and ignored the way Stiles rolled his eyes in desperation. It might be stating the obvious but as long as he was the one telling the story and not Stiles he'd damn well start the story the way he wanted.

"She was… amazing" he reminisced, eyes soft and far away. "The first time I saw her shift, it was… It just left me speechless. She was breathtaking, and the kindest and the most loving woman that I've ever met." The Sheriff's eyes hardened. "And then someone found out what she was, where we lived. Tipped off some local hunters. They came one night and…" The Sheriff took a couple of deep breaths, tried to fight back the tears that threatened to fall.

"We were outnumbered. She told me to run, to save you. We had a place where we were supposed to meet afterwards but she never… she never came." The Sheriff's voice broke and before he knew it he was sobbing against his son's shoulder and it took him a while to compose himself enough to finish the story.

"I never wanted to lie to you, son. But it hurt me so much to talk about her, I almost couldn't admit it for myself that she was gone, let alone tell you. And I wanted to protect you from all that, the supernatural world, the hunters. For all I knew, you might be entirely human and…"

"But I'm not" Stiles cut in. "I'm not exactly happy that you didn't tell me this, but I guess I can understand why, at least until I presented. But since? Why didn't you tell me when you knew?"

"I didn't want you to think about that, on top on learning to control your powers."

"But later then?" Stiles insisted, anger rising quickly. "It's been years dad!"

"I just couldn't!" The Sheriff exclaimed, looking pained. " Stiles, you have to understand, I was lost without her! I didn't know what to do!" He looked briefly at the photograph at the night stand, taken just weeks before Claudia was killed. Seeing it every night before he went to bed was both a comfort and a torment. "Peter's helped me, a lot" he continued. "Not just by babysitting you, but also because he kept reminding me that there were still things in life that was worth living for. That if he could get back on his feet after losing someone, then so could I. Gave me a kick in the ass to get up in the morning, to be a good father. But I still couldn't talk about her." Stiles still looked angrily at his father.

"Stiles, please tell me you understand this" the Sheriff pleaded. And Stiles did understand his dad's motives but it was hard not to become angry when faced with the fact that he'd been lied to his entire life.

"I really want to, dad, but I'm just…" Stiles sighed frustratedly, clenching and unclenching his hands. He really felt like punching something. "I'm going to Scott's, okay? Don't wait up." And with that he left the room without looking back at his father.

Before he started driving he shot a quick text message to Peter, asking the other man to come over. His father really shouldn't be alone on a night like this but Stiles didn't really trust himself not to say something he'd regret later if he stayed. It was better if they both cooled down separately before discussing this again.


	5. Hardships and hunters

**Living with a dragon**

* * *

I don't own Teen Wolf or any of the characters in the series, I'm just borrowing them from their respective owners to play with a little and I promise to give them back when I'm done. No copyright infringement is intended and I don't make any money from writing fanfiction.

* * *

 **Hardships and hunters**

Scott's breathing was getting raspier and more strained by the second and Stiles turned his backpack upside down, frantically raffling through its contents to find the inhaler.

"Help, Stiles" Scott wheezed, faintly reaching out as Stiles finally found the medication and helped his friend breathe it in. A few tense seconds passed but Scott showed no signs of getting better.

"Take another dose" Stiles urged him. "Take more, it's not enough." Scott tried but couldn't breathe in deeply enough. Stiles hands shook as he called for an ambulance and tried to calm his best friend at the same time. Every second before he heard the sirens felt like an eternity.

Later that afternoon, after he'd finally been kicked out of the hospital by Melissa so that Scott could get some sleep, he ended up at the Hale house. His dad was working an evening shift and Stiles didn't feel like being alone with his thoughts would be a good idea. Even if he didn't really need a babysitter anymore he still liked to hang out with Peter, and if he played his cards right, he might even get dinner out of it.

"Why the long face?" Peter asked as he let the teenager in, rubbing his hand over his neck in a gesture that Stiles previously always had thought to be strictly comforting but that he now knew also was for scent marking purposes. Since Stiles' had proved to be a dragon the Hales didn't see the purpose of keeping him in the dark about them being werewolves and as soon as Stiles was back in Beacon Hills after gaining control over his shift Peter had told him everything. Apart from the occasional dog jokes, he hadn't regretted that decision and Stiles had eagerly learnt as much as he could about werewolves.

"Scott had another asthma attack today" Stiles said, climbing onto the kitchen counter. He kicked his legs back and forth and tried to steal a piece of the bell pepper that Peter was chopping into neat cubes. "He's still in hospital."

"Is he going to be okay?" Peter asked carefully. Just because he couldn't quite stand the beaming ray of sunshine and naiveté that was Scott "Goody Two Shoes" McCall didn't mean that he actually wanted the kid to choke to death. Besides, Stiles had threatened to demote him from the position of the coolest babysitter ever if he was mean to Scott and that title _did_ mean a lot to him.

"Yeah, it's just…" Stiles sniffled a little, though he'd deny it to his dying days if anyone asked. "They kept saying that he'd grow out of it and now it's only getting worse. The inhaler's not working and he has to get special meds at the hospital. He's missing a lot of school and Melissa's worried sick and…" He snatched another piece of vegetable from the chopping board, staring at it morosely before popping it into his mouth. "What if next time I'm not there to call an ambulance? What if he's all alone?" Peter let his mind wander while he finished dinner, considered different options and strategies. The Hale pack was wealthy enough, thanks to good investments, and they'd be able to afford to send the boy to an asthma specialist, but according to Stiles it seemed like efforts like that had already been made without conclusive results. He'd have to speak to Talia, and the boy's mother, about possibly offering to turn him. The question was if they were willing to take that risk.

In the end it wasn't about whether or not Scott and Melissa would be willing to take the risk. After a feral alpha erred into Hale territory and Scott happened to cross its path one unfortunate evening the hypothetical discussions about perhaps offering the bite to the teenager turned into planning for werewolf boot camp to help Scott get through school without fur and fangs visible. Melissa was upset at first but she couldn't deny that it was a relief not to have to worry about her son's asthma anymore and Scott was thrilled about finally being able to actually play lacrosse instead of just warming the bench. Things changed for Stiles as well. With his best friend now sitting in the same supernatural boat as himself, he could finally tell Scott all about why he had such a hard time resisting anything shiny or glittery. To say that Scott was shocked by the fact that his best friend was a dragon was an understatement, but it also explained a lot of things, and since getting turned into a supernatural creature himself had somewhat broadened Scott's concept of what was 'normal', he simply stated that Stiles would always be his best friend, non-human or not, as long as he didn't steal any of Scott's things.

All in all most things were going well in Beacon Hills, and that was of course the reason that the universe must've felt compelled to counteract that, to maintain the balance or something.

"Are they after you or me?" Scott yelled in panic as they leaped and weaved their way around the trees of the forest, trying to evade the hunters that had fanned out wide behind them, covering many their possible escape routes.

"I don't know, just run!" Stiles answered, equally panicked. His dad had always warned him about hunters, even more so after the discussion they'd had about his mother, and from Peter he'd learned the true story of the Hale fire, that was very unlike the official version. But it still felt surreal to be running from them, to fight for his life like an animal, and he couldn't shake off the feeling that something terrible was about to happen. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself harder. Scott might be new to werewolf life but he'd quickly learnt to benefit from his increased stamina and Stiles wasn't about to become the weak link by slowing them both down. At last they managed to put a bit of distance between themselves and the hunters and hide behind a rock formation, pressed closely together.

"You should look at this from the bright side" Stiles whispered, still out of breath. "Last month you couldn't have run like that without having an asthma attack."

"Last month I wasn't a werewolf" Scott answered, equally panting. "I didn't need to run then!" And well, it wasn't as if Stiles could argue with that assessment. Besides, he was too out of breath to answer anyway. A few tense seconds passed and the forest was eerily quiet. Slowly the two teenagers started to look around, considering their next move.

"Should I howl or something?" Scott whispered. "Warn the Hales?"

"Are you crazy?" Stiles half-shouted and Scott clapped a hand over his mouth. "If you howl they'll know where we are!"

"I've ever done this before!" Scott pointed out, half-panicked.

"Me neither!" Stiles huffed. "Come on, wolf-boy, use those pointy ears of yours. Is someone coming?" Scott stilled for a moment, concentrating.

"Yes" he then all but whimpered, staring at a point above Stiles' shoulder.

"Well then, come on, let's get out of here" Stiles whispered frantically, pushing at his friend who remained frozen where he sat.

"Too late." Scott looked sick to his stomach, still staring behind Stiles, and Stiles turned around slowly, only to stare right into a pair of icy eyes and the barrel of a gun. Stiles opened his mouth to say something, plead for his life, _anything_ , but before he could utter a word the man's radio crackled to life.

"Argent, report status."

"They're not here" the hunter responded, still not taking his eyes off the two petrified teenagers. "Search closer to the stream."

"Copy that. Move west everyone." The hunter lowered his gun, gestured for them to get up and Stiles explosively let out the breath that he'd been holding.

"I, uh…"

"Go, get out of the forest" the hunter interrupted harshly. "You don't have much time." He turned to leave. "Give my regards to Peter Hale" he added over his shoulder.

* * *

A/N

Just in case anyone's interested in how old I imagine Stiles to be in the different stories, since there's obviously some hopping and skipping in regards to time...

Sparkle and shine ~ 6

Lost and found ~ 8

Shifts and changes ~ 12

Trinkets and troubles ~ 15

Hardships and hunters ~ 16


	6. Hunting and hoarding

**Living with a dragon**

* * *

I don't own Teen Wolf or any of the characters in the series, I'm just borrowing them from their respective owners to play with a little and I promise to give them back when I'm done. No copyright infringement is intended and I don't make any money from writing fanfiction.

* * *

 **Hunting and hoarding**

"Did you get them?" Stiles asked eagerly. "Oh, come on man, tell me you got them." A very low and displeased grumble was heard, barely audible even for Derek's werewolf ears, and then Stiles squealed loudly. "Oh, Scotty, my man, I love you. I love you!"

"Come on" Scott replied nervously. "Let's just get out of here before we're both gutted. Or killed. Or _worse_." Derek snorted into his pillow but ultimately decided not to do anything. If Scott thought he'd kill them for raffling through the trash pile outside the house he wasn't about to set the record straight. If anything, a Scott that was terrified of him and wanted to be as far away from him as possible was a good thing in Derek's book because that _hopefully_ meant that Stiles would be as far away from him as possible as well. That kid had truly become a nuisance recently. Stiles had always seemed to look up to him but recently Derek had almost felt besieged with his company. He lazily turned over on his back, for a while contemplating getting up and giving the two idiots a good scare, but ultimately decided against it. He'd been into town today and that always left him tired and longing for the comfort of his own room, to be surrounded by the smells and sounds of his family, of his pack. He'd just ignore them.

"Of course" Stiles breezily agreed, apparently satisfied with what he'd made Scott dig up from the boxes of discarded stuff from the attic. "Anything you say, Scotty-boy, I worship the ground you walk upon and I listen to each and every one of you- ompf. _Hey_! What was that for?"

"Let's _go_ " Scott repeated, and judging by the sound of it, he all but dragged Stiles towards the car. "Before Derek notices." That had the older werewolf grinning widely. He'd have _so_ much fun with Scott the next time he was due for training with Laura.

::

Derek wouldn't necessarily describe himself as a recluse. Or a hermit. Or sexy as hell but unfortunately with the resting face of a murderer. He was, for some reason, called all of those things by people living in Beacon Hills, former school mates, casual acquaintances from other packs and sometimes even by his own family (because sisters are inherently evil, that's why). He would however, if he'd be asked to describe himself, go as far as to say that he was a somewhat cautious person that, because of events in is past, mostly kept to himself and that he was quite happy with that.

It wasn't as if anyone could blame him for that, at least not those few people that knew the whole story about Kate and the hunters, about how she'd slowly worked her way into his life and gained his trust for the sole purpose of killing both him and his whole family. And only the Hale pack and a few trusted allied humans had the full knowledge about what really happened on the night when the Hale pack house was surrounded by a barrier of mountain ash and the werewolves were both severely burnt as their home went up in flames around them and poisoned by the wolfsbane that had been added to the gasoline sloshed over the wood. Kate's hatred towards werewolves was not limited to their species but in fact extended to also include humans associating themselves with werewolves. She'd been the one to personally distribute the drug that ensured that once the fire was lit, Derek's younger brother and all the other humans in the pack would be unconscious and unable to break the line of mountain ash, thus ensuring the death of the whole pack. It was only because of a series of lucky coincidences that the pack's emissary was alerted and able to break the line of mountain ash, allowing the pack to escape the attack with only a few cases of smoke inhalation and minor burns amongst the human pack members as the result, as the werewolves started healing as soon as they got away from the wolfsbane.

To the people of Beacon Hills it was explained as a crazy act of a lone perpetrator and, as Kate's involvement with Derek had successfully been kept out of the papers, his reluctance to meet new people and socialize was for the most part explained with the trauma and the fear that the attack and the fire had left, not the crippling guilt and the trust issues that was the real result of Kate's betrayal. But it was true that he didn't often go into town because he couldn't stand the whisperings that he had to pretend he couldn't hear, couldn't stomach the false sympathy or thinly disguised curiosity that he was exposed to. He'd gotten himself through high school somehow and since then he'd mostly been with his family, getting his degree online and then helping out by managing the pack's investments together with his father. He might be a bit isolated with only his closest family for company, but he'd rather be isolated and safe than gossiped about, at the mercy of hunters or dead. It was what he'd done since the fire and it had always worked out fine. Up until now, at least, because now someone didn't let him anymore. Someone who was annoyingly persistent and stubborn as a mule. Stiles.

Ever since Scott had gotten bit, and as an underage werewolf entrusted into the care of the Hale pack to master his new abilities, Stiles had suddenly begun to crop up everywhere Derek went, always trying to speak to him. Of course Stiles had always been around the Hale family somehow, at first because Peter had volunteered his babysitting skills when the new Sheriff had appeared in town, recently made a widower and with a toddler in tow, and later because Peter had somehow changed from being a babysitter to becoming a tutor when it became apparent that Stiles' ADHD made it really hard for him to concentrate in school and manage his homework on time. And after Stiles got his medication sorted and could take care of most of his homework himself he'd just taken to hanging out with Peter as a sort of an adopted uncle. Then there'd been the whole situation with him being a dragon and his mother helping out with that, but Derek could swear that he was around the Hale house more often nowadays than he'd been back when he was little. In fact, Derek was willing to bet that he'd actually been around less when he was younger because Peter had preferred to go to Stiles' house to avoid the small kid stealing any of Cora's stuff, which would've resulted in bloodshed, and because everything at the Sheriff's house was as Stiles-proof as a house could possibly be made. Now hardly a day would pass without the strained rumble from the engine of Stiles' battered Jeep and he'd show up at every possible and impossible hour of the day, always with a new explanation for coming by. Hell, it felt as if he'd moved in with the Hales, and everyone else had conveniently forgotten to tell Derek about it and for the rare occasion that Derek had an errand into town, Stiles sure as hell would be just where he was supposed to go, for no apparent reason at all.

He'd try to make conversation, only to have Derek brush him off, but that only seemed to make him more creative. Last Wednesday when Laura had forced him to go into town and have lunch with her, she'd been delayed at work, leaving Derek to wait for her at the café for over an hour, an hour which he spent glaring at the gangly figure sitting in the corner. Without ordering anything. Behind a newspaper. For an hour. With the newspaper upside down. During the whole time.

And as if this wasn't enough for Derek to deal with having a persistent, teenage dragon for a stalker, he also noticed that his possessions had mysteriously started to go missing. At first it was only small things, like the incident with the comic books that were supposed to be thrown away because his mother insisted on cleaning out the attic but he already knew that Stiles took those, and he wasn't surprised because if it was one thing that Stiles loved more than video games it had to be comic books. But that didn't explain why his old basketball was suddenly gone as well. Then it was the case of various pieces of clothing that had been hung out to dry and then disappeared without a trace, and a book that he could've sworn that he'd left on the swing on the porch and the travel mug that he used for his coffee on the rare occasions that he worked at the office instead of from home. It was baffling how his stuff just seemed to vanish into thin air.

::

"Sheriff?" Peter said with barely contained mirth. "I think that your son has made an important discovery recently."

"Do tell" the Sheriff grunted in response. He was at the end of a double shift from hell and not in the mood to play games.

"Bad night?" Peter asked and got another grunt in response.

"Sorry, Peter, I shouldn't take it out on you." The Sheriff made an effort to pull himself together, sitting up instead of hunching over the desk as he'd been doing for the last hour or so. "You were saying?"

"I just overheard a fascinating conversation between Laura and Derek."

"Oh?"

"It seems that Derek's been unfortunate enough to catch the eye of a special someone" Peter started explaining. "A special someone that keeps following him around. _Hunting_ after him, you might even say." Peter paused a second for a bit of dramatic flair. "And another peculiar thing that's been happening is that his belongings keep disappearing, almost as if someone was collecting them. _Hoarding_ them, even." The Sheriff groaned. If Stiles was interested in Derek's things, just for the sake of being _Derek's_ , that could only mean one thing.

"Stiles wants to include Derek in his hoard?" he asked in a voice that clearly indicated that he already knew, and dreaded, the answer.

"Yep" Peter answered, way too cheerfully and the Sheriff had a sudden urge to punch the other man, or at least the phone. It wasn't exactly the easiest thing for a person to be a part of a hoard and a pack at the same time. Dragons tended to be really possessive and fiercely protective of the members of its hoard, much like the alpha of a pack of werewolves, and it was going to take some real diplomacy from everyone involved to keep the peace.

"I think it's more than that" Peter continued, sounding just a bit gleeful. "I think he sees Derek as his hoard piece." The Sheriff just thunked his head down on the table and prayed for strength.


	7. Bonfires and brooding

**Living with a dragon**

* * *

I don't own Teen Wolf or any of the characters in the series, I'm just borrowing them from their respective owners to play with a little and I promise to give them back when I'm done. No copyright infringement is intended and I don't make any money from writing fanfiction.

* * *

 **Bonfires and brooding**

"Why doesn't he like me?" Stiles complained before lifting the bottle and taking another large gulp. Scott only rolled his eyes. They'd been over this subject for days now and Stiles still wouldn't give up.

"Maybe because you're younger than him?" he suggested, tightly holding on to the last shreds of his patience.

"Not that much younger."

"It's more than six years" Scott pointed out.

"Still not that much" Stiles insisted.

"Maybe it's because you're still in high school then?"

"Why should that matter?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because he was seduced by a hunter when he was in high school himself and that left bad memories?" Scott suggested a little sarcastically.

"Our relationship isn't like that at all" Stiles solemnly declared, ignoring his best friends attempt at sarcasm. "What we have is a deep, profound connection. That is you know, deep." After hearing that, Scott reached out for the bottle, even if he couldn't get drunk anymore. He definitely needed alcohol for this conversation.

"His uncle used to babysit you when you were a kid" he said, wincing at the burn in his throat. "I don't think that counts as a 'deep connection' really."

"Hey, wolf-boy, leave some of that for those of us that actually can get drunk" Stiles complained, snatching the bottle back and Scott let him have it rather than arguing with his drunk friend. "I still hang out with Peter though, he's like my cool uncle. But Derek and I totally have something special. He always gave me two more marshmallows than anyone else when we had hot chocolate. Like I said, we have a deep connection." Scott groaned and hid his face in his hands. This was going to be a long night.

A short while later almost half of the bottle was gone and Stiles was attempting to create poetry. Or something.

"Roses are red, violets are blue, so are Derek's eyes, or maybe they're green?" Stiles paused, momentarily lost in thought and then continued: "either way, I want him to fuck me like…"

"Stop it!" Scott looked pained. "TMI!" He waved his arms in front of Stile's face, looking panicked. "Change of subject!"

"I can't talk about Derek's eyes?"

"No!"

"Then let's talk about his abs, seriously Scotty, have you seen them?" Stiles' eyes became unfocused and dreamy and while Scott _had_ in fact seen them at his training sessions with the Hale pack he sure as hell wasn't going to tell Stiles that. The conversation was uncomfortable enough as it was.

"Stop it Stiles, you're drunk" he said instead, taking the bottle from his friend.

"Nope" Stiles slurred from where he'd slid down to lay on the ground, trying to get the bottle back but only managing to clumsily slosh most of its contents over Scott's jeans.

"No, I think you're right" Scott acquiesced, moving the bottle even further away. "You were drunk an hour ago, now you're totally wasted. You'll feel like shit tomorrow if you continue like this."

"So unfair" Stiles mumbled but he made no more move to get the bottle back. "You get turned into a cute little puppy and won't ever get hungover again and heal from everything and I'm a born, badass dragon but I'm still a fucking lightweight" he pouted.

"Yes, because being able to drink is much more important than super healing" Scott sighed before standing up and trying to lift his uncooperative friend. "Come on, let's get you home." Stiles stubbornly shook his head.

"No."

"Why?" Scott asked, exasperated now. "Your dad's going to be home soon, you need to be there before him or he'll ground you like forever."

"I need to figure this out first, Scotty, I need to know why Derek doesn't like me."

"Maybe he's just brooding and boring and not interested?" Scott snapped, at last losing his temper. Stiles might not be worried about being grounded but his mom was going to kill him if he was out late again.

"Don't say that!" Stiles screeched loudly and suddenly their cosy little campfire erupted into a big, raging bonfire. "Oh, shit! Scott, what do I do, what do I do?" he yelped, flailing his arms wildly.

"I don't know" Scott yelled back in panic, backing away from the roaring fire. "Uh, think happy thoughts or something!"

"Happy thoughts?!" Stiles shouted. "You're useless Scott!"

"I'm not the dragon here, you are! Do something!"

After a few panicked seconds Stiles did manage to sober up momentarily and get the fire somewhat under control, allowing Scott to put it out completely with a couple of buckets of water from the nearby stream. ("How did you _do_ that?" "No idea, Scotty, no idea." "Great"). It was during moments like these that Stiles really appreciated Scott's new wolfiness because it meant that he didn't have to help carry the water, but when he tried to express that Scott threatened to use upend the last bucket over him instead and Stiles wisely shut up.

Once they were completely sure that the fire was out the pair of them headed towards the car, one stumbling more than the other.

"Oh, no." Stiles giggled suddenly.

"Oh, no what?" Scott asked dangerously, not finding the situation very funny at all.

"I might've, perhaps, dropped the keys to the jeep somewhere."

"Somewhere?" Scott echoed and there might even have been a hint of fangs accompanying the question.

"You know, around" Stiles threw out his arms to indicate their surroundings. "In the forest." Scott groaned.

"It'll take me ages to sniff them out, I'm not that good at that yet."

"Or we could just walk" Stiles suggested, then giggled again. "Your eyes are glowing, wolf-boy" he pointed out and Scott struggled to keep his eyes human and his fingers non-clawed.

"Yeah, sure, let's walk" he sighed. They were probably already grounded for life anyway.

As it turned out, they didn't have to walk far down the road before they were both blinded by the headlights of an approaching vehicle. Too late did they realize that it wasn't just any vehicle, but in fact one of Beacon Hills Sheriff's Department's patrol cars.

"Good evening, officer" Stiles said, trying for casual and failing miserably. Scott, despite having recently become an apex predator, looked very much like deer in headlights next to him.

"We've had reports of underage drinking and someone lighting a fire in the woods" the officer explained as he looked them over, noticing the smell of vodka, the large stain on Scott's clothes and Stiles' glassy and unfocused eyes. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" And despite the boys' sincerest assurances that they did indeed have _nothing at all_ to do with any of that, they soon found themselves in the backseat of the cruiser and on their way to face two very angry parents.


End file.
